


Interpersonal Chemistry

by skullorchard



Category: Original Work, Professional Wrestling
Genre: Best Friends, Break Up, Drug Addiction, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slice of Life, Unhealthy Relationships, Wrestling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:21:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27130364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skullorchard/pseuds/skullorchard
Summary: On the cusp of 30, Mitch is a typical Millennial that finds himself in a situation like so many others in his generation. He's facing instability and crossroads for what feels like the hundredth goddamn time in a decade; now he's temporarily incapacitated, which is keeping him from his form of escapism at a really bad time.But what can you do? It's either take the beatdown without putting up any resistance, or grab a steel chair and start swinging back.
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

At first there's silence. Then there's a ringing, and boy does it get _loud_.

Instinctively, Mitch reached for the back of his head while the rest of his body assumed the fetal position. As far as he could tell, he was on the floor. When his vision returned, the lights were blinding but he lacked the coordination to shield his eyes. 

Voices began to cut through the ringing, and things like _ambulance_ , _get back_ , and _holy shit_ were uttered over and over again. 

"I'm OK," Mitch groaned. "I'm sorry, I'm OK." 

"Yeah dude?" A recognizable voice came from somewhere above him. "It's Jodie. You with me, Mitch?" 

"Hey Jodie." He glanced upwards, and could vaguely make out the familiar purple of her hair. "I'm OK, really." 

"Don't move," Jodie warned. "You took a big spill from the top rope. Ambulance is on its way, we're gonna get you out of here." 

It wasn't until he was lifted onto the stretcher that Mitch felt anything, but once the EMTs shifted him from his position on the floor, his neck and shoulders were in searing pain. His head throbbed. His vision went dark again. 

Unsurprisingly, he tested positive for a mild concussion, and Mitch handled the news as well as anyone could. But then he's told that he has a torn rotator cuff, and that is a little more difficult to remain upbeat about; it wasn't so severe that it required surgery, but he'd need to take a few weeks off from physical activity. When being outfitted for a sling, the nurse mentioned that he'd need to possibly make some adjustments with it once he can get a shirt on (which he'd probably also need help with getting on), and for the first time he became acutely aware that he was only in his tights, boots, and facepaint. 

Enough time had lapsed that he could finally walk around on his own. He met up with Jodie in the waiting room, and before he could say anything, she placed a button up flannel over his shoulders, and handed him a wad of bills. 

"Jodie, you don't have to-" Mitch began to protest as he looked over the money, but Jodie rolled her eyes and forced it into his open hand. 

"It probably won't cover the entire co-pay, but," she shrugged. "Everyone pooled together. Just take it." 

"Alright," Mitch conceded, despite the nagging guilt. He knew damn well that the money was hers; if he called her out, her stubbornness would cause her to throw up further walls. 

"That spill was gnarly," Jodie talked as they made their way over to check-out. "I don't think you're going to be able to get back home tonight. It's a long ride, and I think the Tri-State crew already took off." 

"So what am I supposed to do?" Mitch's eyebrows knit. 

"Crash at my place?" offered Jodie. He openly grimaced at the idea, which caused her to bristle. "OK well, for starters, it's after midnight. Greenwich is several hours away." She counted on her fingers as she listed points. "You can't drive like this, and if you could, your car's held together with shit like duct tape, hopes, and prayers. Plus, Connecticut fucking sucks, dude." 

"Can't argue with that," Mitch agreed with a half-hearted laugh, which was short lived. His face fell. "Fuck, I gotta call Calvin. FUCK, Jodie, where's my-" 

"Dude, chill. Here." His backpack was presented, which he hastily unzipped and proceeded to rifle through it. Its contents were tossed haphazardly onto the floor, until he reached his phone. She frowned at him. "You think he's gonna be up?" 

"Don't know." Mitch stared at the screen, his thumb hoovering over the contact info. "Shit, I don't want to wake him if he isn't." 

"OK, but you almost...man, I don't want to say 'died', but-" Jodie gestured as she trailed off. "You coulda been hurt real bad, y'know. Your significant other should probably know about that." 

Frowning, Mitch lowered his phone to his side. "I'll wait until I'm outside." 

For the remainder of the time in line, he tried to ignore Jodie's blatant glaring at him. After paying, they made their way to the exit, and he finally broke down with an exasperated, "What?!" 

"I need a cigarette," Jodie grumbled, now several steps ahead of him and already out the door. 

"Hold on," Mitch quickened his pace and caught up, then stood quietly while she fumbled with her lighter. "Jodie, c'mon." 

"You gonna call him?" She finally responded after taking a long drag and exhaling smoke. 

"I-" Mitch swallowed, and looked down at his screen again. Sometimes it seemed like Jodie had been far more impacted by the transgressions in his own relationship than he himself had been. He nodded. "Yeah." 

The phone icon was pressed, and Mitch moved to put some distance between himself and Jodie. After several rings, it picked up. "Hi," came the creaky voice from the other end, obviously having been woken up. 

"Hey Calv," Mitch squeaked out. "I'm sorry to be calling so late." 

"What's going on?" There was a loud yawn. 

"I uh, there was an accident. During my match, I fell and I landed on my head." After a moment of silence, he continued. "But I just got out of the hospital. My shoulder's kind of messed up, I'm in a sling right now, but I'm OK." 

"Jesus, Mitch," came the response after another pause. 

"Like I said, I'm OK!" Mitch repeated, this time the words out spilling faster. When he heard the heavy sigh, he heart began to thunder in his ears. "You know that what you do is dangerous, right?" Calvin deadpanned. "I've told you this at least a hundred times. And for what?" 

"I...I know that. But accidents happen, and-" 

Calvin cut him off. "What are you going to do?" 

"Jodie said that I could stay with her." 

"And you said you're fine?" 

"Yeah." He stared down at a piece of gum that had been embedded and hardened into a crack on the sidewalk, and ignored the way that his face began to flush. "Yeah, I'm fine." 

"Cool. So I have a meeting first thing in the morning. Can we talk later?" 

"Sure." 

"Great. Later, babe." 

And before Mitch could complete the phrase, "love you", the call had disconnected. He let the buzzing drone on for a few seconds before he finally lowered the phone. 

"How'd it go?" Jodie's voice quietly surfaced, its characteristic sharpness absent. 

"He's pissed." Mitch ran a hand through his hair and closed his eyes. He braced himself for his friend's usual tirade, about what an asshole Calvin was and how he had no right to be angry after this, that, and the other thing, and _blah blah blah_. 

Instead, she touched his good arm. "Hey, let's get going," she suggested while gently beginning to pull at him. 

"Alright," he agreed, finally giving up any further resistance, and allowed himself to be guided away from the spot of Earth that he desperately wished would swallow him whole. 

* * *

"So," Jodie started once they were in her car, then she paused to adjust the radio dial. "I let everyone know that you're OK. I also let 'em know to not bother you right now." 

"Thanks." Mitch rested his head against the passenger side window and watched the streetlights pass by. "I really appreciate this, Jodie." 

"Don't mention it." Jodie took a final drag from her cigarette before flicking the butt out the window. "You hungry? We can't exactly do Denny's since you're like, half naked. I think Taco Bell's drive thru still open?" 

He yawned and shook his head. "Nah. At this point, I just wanna sleep." 

"Alright." 

Aside whatever alt rock played on the radio, rest of the ride was in silence. Mitch did his best to ignore the nagging feeling of tension that swelled in the car, and his suspicion of its existence was confirmed when they finally pulled into Jodie's driveway. She killed the engine, inhaled sharply, and her hands grasped at the air. "I just...can I say something?" 

Mitch grimaced. "I guess." 

"You're all fucked up and Calvin like, doesn't care. Am I wrong?" 

"It's **not** that he doesn't care-" 

"Bro." She placed her forehead against the steering wheel, clearly exasperated. "Goddammit, you're so stupid. Lemme ask: did he even offer to come get you? Did he figure out a way for you to get home?" 

"Well, no. But. It's super late, Jodie. I kinda got myself into this, and he's got work super early. And I told him that you offered me a place to stay. I'm sure we'll figure it out tomorrow." Mitch's voice cracked a little, and he rubbed his eyes. "Can we not do this right now? Please?" 

"Fine. Fine." Raising her hands in surrender, she offered a small smile. "I'm just worried, dude." 

"I know." His smile matched hers in uncertainty, and she sighed. Without another word, Jodie exited her side of the car, and moments later opened the passenger side for Mitch. His smile brightened a little more as she helped him out of his seat. "Thanks." 

"No worries." 

The house was dark when they entered it, and Jodie mentioned that her roommates should already in bed. She hit the light switch for the living room and told Mitch that she'd make up the futon, but found somebody already occupying it. "Aw shit, sorry Ingrid!" She exclaimed 

"It's cool!" The couch's occupant threw an arm over her head, and Jodie turned the light off. 

"Sooo." Motioning for Mitch to follow her, she apologized about forgetting that other members of the roster would probably be crashing at the house tonight. "You wanna just do this like old times and share my bed?" 

"Oh dang, we going high school style?" Mitch laughed. "Yeah, that's fine." 

"And college? And that time that I was homeless for a hot minute? And then that time that you were between jobs for another minute?" She started to count off of her fingers again. 

Realization dawned on Mitch, and he mused out loud, "Honestly, I think I've slept next to you more than anyone that I've dated." 

"Two gaaays, one beddd!" she sing-songed once the door to her bedroom was shut behind them. The backpack was unceremoniously tossed onto a chair covered that was covered in laundry. "By the way, you still have your gear on. And stuff all over your face." 

Baby wipes and underwear were pulled out from the backpack, and Mitch made his way to the bathroom. He studied himself in the mirror before removing the now-smeared facepaint, fixated on the size of the bruises along his neck and shoulders. Had he landed mere centimeters north, the doctor said that he probably would have been paralyzed. As more stubborn more spots of paint were scrubbed, he couldn't help but wonder how that conversation with Calvin went, and he hastily willed that hypothetical out of his head. 

With the last traces of paint gone, Zevon the werewolf was no more. Now all that was left was an unkempt human Mitch Calvert, with his shaggy blonde hair, his hawk nose, and too many imperfections that he'd rather not be alone with. At least Zevon was a fearsome monster, so he had excuses for being hairy and scraggly and covered in weird scars. 

It was a Herculaneum task to undress, and he barely had the energy to pull up the pair of boxer-briefs, but Mitch had managed to overcome the odds. He cursed at himself for forgetting a toothbrush, and helped himself to some mouthwash that belonged to one of the house's other occupants. When he returned to Jodie's bedroom, he noted an obscene amount of pillows on what he assumed was his side of the bed, and asked, "Do you think that might be a bit much?" 

"You're a side sleeper, and right now you can't do that," She pointed out. 

The gear was dropped near the backpack, and Mitch settled into the bed. He made several attempts at getting comfortable, and once he'd stopped moving, Jodie turned the lamp near the bedside off. After several minutes of quiet, with a deep breath he finally said, "They gave a prescription. It's a written one, but. Y'know." 

"OK," Jodie softly acknowledged, and Mitch could practically feel her trying to carefully weighing the next few words. "What are you going to do with it?" 

"I gotta get rid of it. Like, obviously." He chuckled softly. Sadly. 

"Is it in the bag?" Jodie asked. 

"Yeah. I shoved it towards the bottom." 

"OK." Jodie repeated as she got out of bed. As she loudly rummaged, she asked, "Do you want some weed or something?" 

"I really would, yes." A vape pen was tossed in his direction, and landed on his chest. "Thanks." 

"Anytime." Jodie finally returned to her spot. As Mitch took a hit, he could see a small piece of paper of held between her fingers. His eyes went wide as she popped the entire thing into her mouth, thoroughly chewed, and swallowed it. 

"Jesus, Jodie." 

Jodie rolled onto her stomach, and gave a muffled, "Night dude." 

* * *

Even with the help a shitton of weed, sleep did not come easy for Mitch. Had he not been entombed in pillows, he would have retrieved his phone to alleviate some boredom. Being alone with his thoughts heightened his anxiety, and this caused his mind to wander into sketchy territory. 

Did anyone ignore Jodie's warning and reach out to him? 

Was Calvin awake? If he was, was he worried at all? Were there any messages waiting on the phone? 

What if he didn't tell Jodie about the prescription? He'd dealt with excruciating pain before, he could probably handle this. But what if he couldn't? Could he tell the doctor that he lost the prescription and get another one? Could he- 

Mitch ran his free hand down his face, murmuring "easy does it, easy does it, easy does it" over and over again until his thoughts weren't so fixated anymore. He considered waking Jodie up to talk about it, but she'd already done so much. 

Eventually, he fell into something of a slumber, but it certainly wasn't restful in any way. When he woke up, his head pounded and eyes were burning. 

"Twitter wishes you well," came Jodie's greeting from the other side of the bed. 

"Tha's'nice." Mitch closed his eyes again. 

"Swamp Goon asked if it was OK to cut a promo on what happened last night. You cool with that?" 

"Sounds good." 

"They apologized like a billion times now." She waved her phone in front of his face with the text conversation pulled up, and Mitch swatted her arm away. "Asked if you needed anything." 

"Tell them I'm fine, and that it's OK. Shit happens." Mitch waved dismissively. "Anyway, can you hand me my stuff?" 

"Yup." Jodie rolled off of the bed and brought the bag over. "By the way, what do you want for breakfast?" 

"Don't care. Bagels?" The phone was pulled out, but the battery was dead. "Dammit. Hey Jodie, can you help me out?" 

"On it." Once the phone was plugged in, she head towards the door. "I think we got bagels. I'll go check." 

Somehow, Mitch found the self-restraint to only check on his phone's progress every 30 seconds or so. It took 5 minutes for him to give up on that, and move onto trying to get dressed. He undid the sling and managed to get a t-shirt halfway on before he got stuck. 

"Bruh." Jodie's voice dripped with pity. 

"Don't laugh," begged Mitch. The smell of toasted bagels wafted, making his stomach grumble. He was so tired, so sore and hungry and frustrated. "This sucks." 

"It does," Jodie agreed. She held a bagel half up to his mouth so that he could take a bite, then once he did she set the rest of the food down on her nightstand. "Hey, hold still." 

Somehow, with their powers combined (and plenty of yelling and swearing), Mitch was back in his t-shirt and sling with minimal damage. The phone powered on in the nick of time; it was enough to distract him from yet again calling Jodie "a fucker", and also from -yet again- being called "a motherfucker". 

There was an overwhelming amount of alerts from Twitter, all of which were well-wishes for his recovery, and he had trouble comprehending it. He was also shocked to see how many of the roster blatantly ignored Jodie's request that he not be bothered, and tears began to well up. Hell, Swamp Goon alone had sent at least 20 messages. "You weren't kidding, huh? About Twitter?" 

"Oh yeah. It's wild, given that you're an absolute bitch." She playfully nudged him. "But you might wanna avoid going through the tag right now. There's a few gifs of the accident making the rounds. It's hard to watch." 

Mitch wanted to say that he could handle it, but he knew that she probably was right. Instead, he scrolled through the texts, seeking something in particular. 

Something that, he quickly realized, wasn't there. 

His mouth went dry and stomach turned to knots as he scrolled through again, but there was nothing from Calvin other than whatever their exchange was before the show yesterday. Trying his best to feign normalcy, he took another bite of the bagel and said nothing to Jodie. It was almost impossible choke it down. 

* * *

It wasn't until well into the evening that Calvin had gotten in touch. 

Before that, Mitch spent his day fretting, napping, and aimlessly scrolling on social media platforms. At one point, he'd painstakingly managed to get undressed to and showered, sometimes poking at the tender areas out of curiosity; unsurprisingly, they still hurt. The most exciting moment was when Ingrid stopped by the room to talk for a while. 

When the call came, his pulse quickened at seeing the name on the screen. 

"Hi!" He chirped, and was thankful that Jodie was elsewhere in the house. 

"How're you holding up?" came Calvin's voice through the other end, and Mitch couldn't gauge the mood. 

"Painful," he answered honestly. "I mean, it's a hazard of the job, y'know?" 

"Right." 

"I don't uh...think I can drive right now. The doctor doesn't advise it." Mitch continued to talk to avoid gaps in the conversation. "Luckily it was my right arm, so I'm still pretty functional, but I don't think that I can get back home on my own." 

He'd hoped that would have prompted some kind of reaction, something supportive, but all he got was a detached "Mhm." 

"I guess I could leave my car at Jodie's and take a train back? I think The Amtrak goes to down New Haven, maybe you could grab me from the station?" 

"Well," Calvin started, then paused. It was a tone that Mitch had grown increasingly familiar with, and he felt his blood go cold. "Mitch." 

His brain turned to static. His limbs went numb. "Yeah?" He bit the inside of his cheek and gripped the fabric of his shirt as tightly as he could, knuckles going white. 

Calvin spoke again. "I just-" 

Mitch didn't know if he was saying _no no no no no_ in his head or under his breath, but that's the only clear thing he could make out while Calvin gave what was now an annual spiel about how "this isn't working anymore". Usually it happened in person, and Mitch could argue in favor of working it out like adults, that it wasn't fair to do this when Calvin didn't ever communicate his grievances in the first place. How the hell was he supposed to read his mind?! They'd talk about going therapy. They'd spend a night apart, then they'd fuck next day. They'd be OK for a while, and Mitch could put off things like figuring out getting his own health insurance for just a little bit longer. 

It always sucked in person. This was so, SO much worse. 

During a stretch of unbearable silence, Jodie reappeared with Chinese takeout containers in her arms. He tried to turn away from her, but he could tell that she'd already seen his face and situation unfolding was given away. 

"Hey, I...I think I'm gonna go," Mitch's voice cracked; like fissures forming on the earth's crust, he knew he moments away from all of his insides spilling out. If Calvin said anything in response to that, it didn't register. Nothing did. 

The call was disconnected, and the phone was dropped onto the carpet.


	2. Chapter 2

“He’s such an asshole!” was Jodie’s mantra for the night, loudly declared between mouthfuls of fried rice. They sat sprawled out on top of her floral duvet watching Spice World, but the volume had been lowered several times over the course of the movie so that she could rant. “He’s like, in the top three of biggest assholes I know.”

“Who’s in the number one spot?” Mitch poked at his own food with no real interest in it. 

“Toby.” 

“Wow!” Mitch laughed. “You said that with absolutely no hesitation!” 

“You have a type!” She speared a piece of pork. “And apparently, I like to introduce them to you! ‘Hey shitty boys! Here’s my very dumb, very gay friend with mad self-esteem issues. Have at 'im!’. Dude, maybe I’m the number one asshole that I know.” 

“You’re **my** number one asshole.” That earned Mitch a withering glare. 

“REALLY?” Pivoting her position on the bed, she put her feet against his torso and began to push him towards the edge of the mattress. “It’s isn’t Toby?!” 

“It’s definitely Toby.” He laughed even harder, and Jodie stopped pushing. 

“You’re actually taking this pretty well, aside all that crying earlier. Do you need anything, like ice cream?” 

“I.” Pursing his lips, Mitch gave her remark some thought. “I don’t know. It hasn't fully sunk in? But at the same time, I could kinda feel this coming.” 

“You said you wouldn’t try to fix this next time it happened.” The chopsticks were pointed directly at him, accusatory. “You told me to remind you about that.” 

“I know, I know.” Mitch raised his free hand in surrender. “Part of me is weirdly relieved, because I’m too tired to keep fighting for it anymore. I’ve just been so desperate to make the past 6 years mean something, and it didn't matter. It goes out with a whimper instead of a bang. I dunno. It sucks.” 

“He never deserved the effort.” Somehow, Mitch knew the next part that was coming, and he braced himself. “Especially after he cheated on you. WITH TOBY.” 

“Fuckin’ Toby.” 

“FUCKIN’ TOBY!” They both giggled at the outburst, but it was short lived. Jodie glanced down at her phone, then back at Mitch. “Speaking of, he texted me earlier. I guess he got word about what happened to you, and wanted to check in.” 

“Did you tell him anything?” Mitch turned his attention back to the movie, not wanting to appear to be anything other than indifferent at mention of his ex's name. 

“Hell no!” She frowned. “We don’t talk much in general anymore, so it was just weird. I think he still follows the promotion on Twitter. I should block his ass.” 

“It’s OK if you do.” Mitch grabbed the remote from where it sat between them and turned the volume up a notch. “Like, talk to him or tell him about me. I don’t really care.” 

“You’re so fucked up.” She took the remote back and turned the volume down again. There was a pause, which was never a good thing. Jodie typically didn't tip-toe, but over time she'd been trying her best to have tact. A pause meant that Jodie making an attempt at sensitivity. It meant that whatever she was about to say was heavier than she knew how to express, that she was trying to resist the urge to blurt out the first thing on her mind. “Look, we gotta talk for real, though. Did you ever find another sponsor? Because I reaaally think you should.” 

“No,” Mitch admitted, and sunk down against the headboard. “I haven’t had the time. And I mean, Toby never like…cut me off or anything. I could still talk to him if I needed to, he was actually really good at be supportive and giving advice and stu-” 

“HE’S YOUR EX. _THAT FUCKED YOUR OTHER NOW EX_. Oh my god, I’m going to gouge my own eyes out.” Her face was in her hands. “You are the dumbest smart person that I know.” 

“Look, it made sense at the time! We were good friends after it ended, and he’d been through it too and I think he was really trying to help, y'know?” As Mitch continued, Jodie groaned. “And how was I supposed to know that he and Calvin had been fucking all over the apartment for several months…goddammit, I really am dumb, huh?” 

“YES!” Jodie threw her hands up. “YOU REALLY ARE.” 

Once Spice World ended, another movie followed, and then another. Not even 15 minutes in to their latest viewing, Jodie had unsuccessfully tried to suppress her yawns. 

“Hey, go to sleep,” Mitch nudged her, and she batted him away. 

“’M fine,” Jodie insisted, and sunk further into the mattress. “Besides, it’s been forever since we’ve hung out like this.” 

“Yeah, but you’re tired.” 

This exchange went on for too long, until the remote was finally snatched away from Jodie, she was haphazardly tucked in, and the light was turned off. Again, Mitch found himself unable to sleep, but thankfully he had his phone this time. An email was sent to his editor, which briefly touched upon the chaos he’d been plummeted into; a part of him knew that this could lead to the loss of yet another columnist position, but he just couldn’t bring himself to care. 

So many messages were drafted and ready to be sent to Calvin, but were ultimately deleted. On Facebook, he saw that no time was wasted in Calvin’s relationship status change to ‘single’, and Mitch’s immediate reaction was to deactivate his own account. He cried until he barely passed out, only to wake up before REM could kick in, and then repeated this cycle all over again. 

There was a part of him that was thankful that he was miles away from his now-ex (a thought he just couldn’t process yet, and that his heart feel like it was physically dissolving). He was presently with his best friend, temporarily safe and sheltered in both a physical and emotional sense. Being apart meant that he wasn’t directly at the base of ground zero, staring at the surrounding rubble in a daze. 

Yet, he yearned to be in a familiar environment, even if it killed him, if for no other reason than for a moment of privacy. He wouldn’t dare complain, but being in the house that Jodie’s abulea had passed away in about a year ago didn’t make things any more comfortable; there were still traces of the woman everywhere, but thankfully Jodie had overcome her grief just enough to at least taken down the numerous crucifixes that once adorned all of the bedroom walls. 

(She hadn’t, however, removed the very cool velvet Jesus painting, which now stared at Mitch in the darkness from across the room.) 

Also, all of his shit was back in Connecticut, which he kind of needed but had no clue how to go about collecting. He wasn’t about to request Jodie’s help with that task, because on top of everything that she had done, there was no guarantee that she wouldn’t disembowel Calvin on sight. At the very least, he’d backed up all of his work onto Google Drive, so even though it wasn’t ideal he could technically still get work done on his phone. But it’d be nice to maybe have clean clothes, as well as his laptop and camera and guitar and whatever else he could use to make a little extra money through freelancing. He briefly entertained the idea of seeing if he could get more dates booked, only to remember that he’d badly injured himself just over 24 hours ago. 

“Goddammit,” he hissed, pressing a palm into his eyes in frustration. Immediately, he remembered the painting and whispered “sorry” in velvet Jesus’ direction. 

For a distraction, he finally replied to all of the well-wishes that he’d been tagged in on Twitter. Though quite the ego boost, the amount was still unfathomable to Mitch. Ever since Jodie had pushed to get professional filming equipment and Grindhouse Pro had started streaming events on a bi-weekly basis, the brand had begun to accelerate in a way that no one -not even Jodie herself- could have anticipated. It was nice that the hardwork and investments were at last paying off, but that temporary high from the ego boost drastically plummeted as he found himself completely unprepared to handle the attention. 

As anxiety began to churn, he decided to attempt sleep once more after a quick glance through DM notifications. Fortune, however, did not favor the brave, and in disbelief he found himself staring at a message from Toby, of all people. His hand began to tremble ever-so-slightly. 

“Uh. No.” Mitch powered his phone down and slammed it on top of the nightstand. It didn't matter whether or not how desperate he was to pour out emotions to a familiar face, especially one that knew _him_ and not Zevon. There were no circumstances that Toby could be that person. 

* * *

The soft glow of morning light could be seen around the edges of the curtains, and Mitch still hadn’t really slept. Hell, he wasn’t even tired, just numb in general. Maybe he’d be OK, maybe he’d already accepted this foregone conclusion so long ago that now that the shockwaves had passed, he’d take some time to decompress and then everything would be fine. There were a lot of positives to take away from this, he was sure of it. 

“Hey stud,” Jodie croaked, interrupting his thoughts. 

“Morning,” Mitch replied. 

“Can you hand me my meds? They’re in the drawer.” She gestured in the general direction of the nightstand, and he obliged, handing her a pill vial of estrogen tablets and another of anti-depressants. “Thanks.” 

“Do you need water?” 

“Hell no, I ain’t no bitch,” Jodie asserted before tapped out one of each and swallowed them. “Dumb question, but how are you doing right now?” 

“I’m alright,” he absently nodded. Everything felt like static and nothing felt real. 

“Great. I need to head over to the school today. You wanna tag along? Like, get out of my dead grandma’s place?” Unsurprisingly, she was already up and getting dressed, constantly moving. A fistful of unkempt hair was pulled into a ponytail while she simultaneously slipped on a pair of Vans. “I think everyone might wanna see that you’re not, y'know. Dead.” 

“Yeah, actually that might be nice.” He was not nearly as hurried, languidly stretching his good arm above his head. 

“Things are like, super busy right now. Dad hired a new trainer, and I think he’s onboard with being in Grindhouse?” Jeans were tossed in Mitch’s direction, but they landed on the floor a few feet in front of him. “Hurry up, dude.” 

“Who is it?” With one foot, he dragged the crumpled pile of jeans towards himself, then maneuvered pulling them up and buttoning them with one hand. Beaming with pride, he declared, “Hey, I think I’m getting good at this!” 

“That’s super neat,” Jodie deadpanned, then continued in a much more excited tone. “So, obviously don’t say anything, but it’s Avi.” 

“Wait, Avi? As in Avi Sher?” Mitch asked incredulously, only to realize just how stupid he sounded. There was only one Avi in their sphere that she could have been talking about, but it seemed like an impossibility. Avi was a well-seasoned vet of nearly 20 years, seeming to be everywhere all at once, but definitely never in Monument, Massachusetts. The idea of working with him was something on Mitch’s bucket list, filed specifically under being a pipe dream. “I thought he was in Mexico, or maybe somewhere else in Central America?” 

“That was a while ago, recently he’s been in the Caribbean. Dad had a match against him last time he was back in Santo Domingo.” She continued to explain as they made their way down to her car. "At some point, they talked and Avi mentioned possibly moving back to the States, so Dad offered him a job at the school. And like, you know Dad. He’s a persuasive sonuvabitch when he wants something.“ 

"Yeah, but-” Mitch was at a momentary loss for words, opening his mouth a few times only to close it again. Until, “Damn. That’s…” 

“I know.” There was giddiness in Jodie’s voice, her demeanor completely absent of its usual snark or confidence; it was as though she’d been swapped out for an alternate dimension version of herself. This was obviously good news for the school, but for Grindhouse it was especially important, since behind the scenes they'd recently reached an uncomfortable crossroads about where to go next. If Avi could fulfill this much-needed role in that, they'd have a big name draw and cohesiveness at last. And for Jodie to be so impacted was downright infectious. He matched her nervous smile, which only made her break out into a wider grin. “I know.”


End file.
